Page 54 of Single Mom's Secret Diary
Now that Dad and I are alone, though, he turns to me with his arms crossed and that patent disapproving look from when I’m in trouble. It might have been a rare occurrence, but I still recognize this arrangement of his features and the spark in his eyes.
I sigh, waiting for it.
“He’s the father, isn’t he?” The softness of his tone drives my guilt deeper.
I gnaw on my lip and nod.
“Does he know?”
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself to keep it all from falling apart.
“Bambina. What are you doing? Why have you not told him?” Finally, he steps forward, bracing me by my shoulders. I’m ready to break, but I struggle hard against it. Dad’s softness doesn’t shake the disappointment.
It amplifies it.
“How am I supposed to after ten years?” The task feels insurmountable, but what did I expect when I invited him to one of Charlie’s games? It’s not like my son looks likeme.
Dad tips my forehead into his shoulder and hugs me—hard. “Before, you had an excuse. What do you have now? Fear? You get over it and do what must be done for Charlie.”
Because that’s the crux of it. Charlie. He deserves to know his dad. And Ezra deserves to know his son. Just because it wasn’t possible before doesn’t mean it shouldn’t happen now.
But this is going to disrupt both of their lives so much. How can I do it to them?
“You’ve done much harder things,bambina. Much harder. You can do this.” Dad rubs my back for long minutes before Ezra returns.
He hands us both paper cups of coffee, and Dad pats my shoulder. “I’m going to stretch my legs.”
Once Dad is out of sight, the silence stretches, and I’m so, so tired. I sink down into a chair and cover my face with my hand.
Dark sneakers appear on either side of my feet. My coffee cup is lifted from my hand without my even having tasted it, and I collapse into myself a little further.
I’ve never shied away from having a hard conversation before, but the shock of seeing my son get hurt and winding up in a hospital has worn me down. Maybe the adrenaline is breaking, leaving me weak-kneed and fragile.
But I haven’t been fragile in a long, long time. Not since I came home from Spring Break and discovered I was pregnant with Charlie and had no way of finding Ezra. I’d lived in a fragile space for so long because of my own stupid decisions.
Although having him is the best thing I’ve ever done, I grieved losing what could have been with Ezra for so long after.
Sucking in a breath and steeling myself, I drop my hands and stand. Ezra is less than a foot away, watching me with a mix of worry and frustration. It’s so similar to my first week at work for him that I nearly laugh at putting myself in this position.
“So, Charlie… He’s, um…”
Ezra lets out a humorless laugh and shakes his head.
He knows. He already knows, so why does it feel impossible to admit?
Those dark brown eyes take me in, and he sighs.
Fine. Just rip the Band-Aid off. Say it, and let the chips fall where they may. Because I can’t play this off, and I can’t keep it in any longer.
“He’s yours.” Somehow, I’ve found the strength to say it with a steady voice, like we’re talking about the weather and not that I gave birth to a son he didn’t know about for the last nine years. That he should have known about for at least these last five weeks I’ve been working at his company.
My shoulders draw back to keep me from wobbling as Ezra closes his eyes. His head tips back, and he takes a deep breath.
I can’t tell how upset he is, but as much as I try to pull myself into my usual ice queen, nothing can touch my state of mind. I’m trembling. Folding my arms around myself is my only defense as I wait for him to condemn me. To stomp off cursing my name. To promise he’ll fight me for custody. To tell me he wants nothing to do with me now.
I wish I hadn’t let all of those walls fall from around my heart because being vulnerable is not easy for me.
Neither is waiting, but I do. I wait.
